At A Loss For Words
by staymagical
Summary: Arthur has finally managed to retrieve his servant from the hands of ruthless slavers. But no matter how much he may wish it, things will never be the same again. Warnings for forced addiction, drugging, withdrawal, bodily harm, abuse, slavery, blood, just basically be warned
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So this started out as just a mere theme I had to fill and now, it has snowballed. No idea how long this fic is going to be nor when I'll be updating (I know I know, I need t be better about that. Still have a fic I need to finish...) but here it is nonetheless. Enjoy  
PS: the theme was "drugs" but that doesn't mean that's the main focus for later chapters...

**Warnings:** forced addiction, drugging, withdrawal, bodily harm, abuse, slavery, blood, just basically be warned (always be prepared for major warnings when it comes to my fics :P )

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Arthur really did not want to be here. Anywhere else, literally anywhere, would have been preferable. But he was here for a reason, and he'd be damned if he didn't see it through. He owed Merlin that and much much more.

Besides if he didn't want to be here of his own free will and choice, he didn't even want to know how Merlin must have felt. He didn't really have a say in it. Arthur was hoping to change that.

There was no smell of rot and filth like one would assume would go hand-in-hand with such a place, though Arthur assumed there was plenty of it throughout. The floors were swept and tidy but a feeling of filth still lingered. Not a bit of straw covered the bottom of any of the surrounding cells. That was...odd. This was not where they were normally kept then. Arthur suppressed a shiver. He didn't even want to know what those quarters looked like.

"Ah, this one may not look like much but he's a hard worker." They paused in front of the third cage and Arthur's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the mop of black hair and thin frame that was shackled within. "Reckon he was a servant to some noble back in the day so he has high stamina…if you know what I mean." The man winked at Arthur who had to stop himself from shuddering at the implication. "Non-verbal and loaded. Comes with a month's supply."

"Loaded?" Arthur had never heard the term before but it didn't sound good.

"Ah yes, I forgot. Ya're a new customer," the man said, nodding. "When we get our merchandise they sometimes are a bit…uncooperative. It's to be expected. So we drug 'em with a special concoction—I invented it myself." Arthur wanted nothing more than to smack the man's proud grin right off his face. That and run the man through with his sword. Several times. "It makes 'em more…let's just say it makes 'em more compliant. They follow orders better without shutting down completely. Still functional, just less likely to run off on ya." The man stood a little straighter, his grin turning into one of content as though he was proud of taking away a person's will. Which, Arthur suspected with disgust, he probably was.

"I see. That's….useful."

The slaver barked a laugh. "Even more useful when they misbehave—which is rare but does happen sometimes—this one especially I might warn ya but he's a good worker in all aspects." Another wink causing Arthur's anger to rise further. "The drug makes it easier to punish 'em too. Just take it away and by the next day they're going through severe withdrawals and practically begging for it. That's why we provide a few weeks' supply with loaded purchases. It's potent and highly addictive ya see and we mix it in with the water and food to get 'em reliant upon it quicker. This is a fast business, can't waste time waiting for things to kick in, now can we." The man elbowed Arthur in the side, wanting to share the joke, but Arthur just wanted to vomit.

He schooled his features, even though he was practically fuming with anger. He knew how drug addicts were affected and knew about the pains that came with withdrawal. Had even seen it first hand and it was a sight he would never forget. He wouldn't even wish this fate upon his worst enemies let alone his manservant and—dare he say it—friend.

"No you certainly cannot."

The man smiled with pride, causing Arthur to force down a shiver at his obvious love for cruelty. "Now what kind of slave do you want exactly? Is this for labor, pleasure, translation, battle?"

"Ummm labor mostly." He tried not to think about the kind of men who came here to purchase a slave with the intention of actually _using_ them.

"Ah, good. Be just fine then, this one. Can't be much of a translator now can he, non-verbal and all."

"Non-verbal?"

"Can't speak."

Arthur's eyes shot up at that. Never had he known Merlin to be one to hold his tongue. The boy was always chattering on about anything and sometimes it was a pain just getting him to shut up. Especially when given the chance to mouth off. Arthur just couldn't see him passing by the opportunity to back talk to these captors. It was one of the reasons Arthur had been so concerned about his condition. And for good reason it seems.

"Well, not anymore," the slaver continued, completely oblivious to the thoughts racing through Arthur's head. "Had a mouth on 'im when he arrived and no matter how loaded he got, we couldn't get 'im to shut it." The man shrugged nonchalantly staring at the chained boy again. "He's good now. Obedient and compliant once we cut out his tongue."

_- five days earlier -_

Doran looked down his nose at slight boy shaking and practically bathing in his own fluids on the floor of the cell.

"How ya doing lad? Anything I can get ya?" he asked in a mocking tone, sneering.

Merlin didn't say a word, instead opting for gritting his teeth as the shaking turned into slight convulsions. His head was pounding out a relentless tune as every inch of his body felt like it was on fire, sweat pouring off him in waves. He knew what the man wanted. Knew he wanted to continue to refuse with every fiber of his being. But he could feel his concentration wavering, the need overpowering his mind and filling his every thought. This is what they want.

Withdrawal.

From the day he had been taken, grabbed right out of the woods surrounding Camelot as he was gathering herbs for Gaius, they had been forcing the drug down his throat. It kept him in a haze, like there was a blanket covering his mind keeping him compliant and thoughtless. But whether they physically forced it down or disguised it in his meager food or water, it didn't matter. There had been no way around it. His body had become reliant upon it in a matter of days, unable to function properly without it but unable to function _normally_ with it. No magic, no free will, no escape.

"No? You know this could all end with just one word. Come on, boy."

Merlin shook his head once, the pounding increasing with the movement.

"Oh well," Doran shrugged before flashed him a knowing grin. "They all give in eventually. It's only a matter of time." And with those pleasing thoughts, the slaver turned and walked back down the dungeon corridor, the heavy iron door screeching shut behind him as he exited.

Merlin tried to calm himself, tried to tell himself he could do this, that it wasn't so bad. But he knew better. At the start, it hadn't been too terrible. Half a day without the drug only resulted in a slight headache, some anxiety and restlessness. His mind slowly became more alert, but with it came headaches, soon followed by nausea and a feeling of constriction in his chest. That night he couldn't sleep, the adrenaline that had been repressed by the drug surging up through his body with vigor. Then came the sweating and shaking as the headaches only increased and he lost concentration here and there. Now he just felt positively ill not to mention he was trembling violently and his head was about ready to break open. Not the best feeling in the world. And it was only going to get worse the longer he went without the drug.

But he refused to beg for it. Even though he could feel his resolve crumbling with every minute that passed, with every bead of sweat that chilled him to the bone yet made him feel like he was burning from the inside out and every tremor that wracking his weakened body. He didn't want to give his captors the satisfaction of seeing him break but he didn't think he would have much of a choice soon.

And it was only made that much worse by the fact that he could feel his magic now as the drug left his body but was unable to focus enough through the pain to use it. Useless, just useless.

Slavers. That's all these men were. Large, burly, completely ruthless but just a bunch of slavers nonetheless, only out to make a profit by capturing travelers and wanderers in the woods and selling them in the underground market. And Merlin had been unlucky enough to catch their eye. Really though he could have easily escaped. That is if Doran hadn't distracted him while his companion snuck up behind him and clobbered him over the head. Cheaters.

It had been days now, Merlin was sure of it. Maybe even a week. All right, he wasn't actually sure how much time had passed since he had gotten caught, but he was sure it couldn't have been more than a week. And really that was an awfully long time to be missing. Surely someone had noticed he had disappeared. Gaius most definitely. Arthur probably wouldn't care much besides the fact that his chambers were a complete disaster and his armor needed a good polish. He most likely thought his manservant had tripped and knocked himself out again. Typical.

So that left Merlin on his own. He had to find his own way out of this hellhole.

The young warlock was broken out of his racing thoughts by a severe cramping in his stomach. He just barely had time to turn to the side and brace his hands on the floor before the meager contents of his stomach splattered all over the cell floor. Again. As if the amount of fluids around him weren't enough already. But at the moment he couldn't be bothered by it. He just wanted this all to end.

He was losing it. Not just his stomach contents but his resolve. He didn't want to, he really didn't. These men were cruel and nothing short of brutes, they didn't deserve his pleading. And he didn't want to show them how they were breaking him, piece by piece until there was nothing of himself left to put together.

But they were.

He couldn't take it any longer. He was sure that despite what the slavers said, he would not survive the withdrawals. The pain was too great, the symptoms too severe. The physician in him knew he couldn't last more than another day. This needed to end now.

A sob escaped the warlock's throat. He didn't want to, but he had no choice.

Like the man could hear the young warlock's thoughts, Doran appeared beyond the bars. Merlin hadn't even heard him approach. He really was losing it.

"How's our little trooper doin'?"

Merlin grit his teeth so hard he was sure they were going to crack. But he slumped, his mind having let go. And it hurt. It hurt so bad to give in like this. But if he wanted to increase his chances of survival, he had no choice.

"P-pp-plea-a-se." The word came out barely more than a whisper, choppy and almost incomprehensible.

"What was that boy? I didn't quite hear ya?" The man sneered, unable to keep the cruel joy from spreading across his face.

"P-p-ple-e-ase" he rasped, stronger but only slightly.

"Speak up, boy. Can't hear ya," Doran continued to mock.

"P-ple-e-ease!"

A smug smile mared Doran's face. "Told ya, ya all give in eventually," he stated as he unlocked the cell door and approached the warlock.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Wow! The response for this fic was amazing! Thanks you guys. I'll keep updating as I can but no promises on the timely manner. Been super busy with work an my internship and everything but I promise to try my hardest to get chapters up. Anyway, here's the next chapter! Enjoy!

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-_present-_

Arthur felt dirty in so many ways. For one, he couldn't believe he had willingly entered the underground market. For another, he had bought a human being in the underground market. Granted it was Merlin and all for the sake of freeing him from what would have been a very hard and cruel life—which somehow made the entire thing even worse seeing as Arthur should not have to buy his friend's freedom in the first place—but still he had purchased him like an animal. No worse, like property.

And the entire time the exchange had been taking place, Arthur watched Merlin as he stood completely motionless, his head bowed submissively, as though the fight had been taken right out of him a long time ago. Arthur hoped it was all just for show.

The servant's balance was slightly off as if he was favoring his left leg, his wrists bound together in front of him with a long piece of rope, the end of which was clutched in Doran's meaty hands ready to hand over to Arthur once payment was received. Arthur had to bite his tongue and force himself to remain stoic on multiple occasions throughout the entire exchange. At the end, once the money was in the slaver's greedy hands, Merlin was hauled over roughly and the drug Doran had mentioned was forced down his throat. Arthur had almost lost it at that. But he couldn't give his identity away. These men didn't know he was the king, they just thought he was another sleazy noble or knight who desired cheap labor he could work hard and not care about. Not the smartest bunch really.

And still Merlin's eyes never met Arthur's through it all. It was unnerving and yet heart wrenching knowing that his usually intractable, cheerful servant had been reduced to this.

And to know that, no matter how much he may have berated him for it, Merlin would never talk again. All the jokes, all the insults, all the unexpected and incredible wise advice would never be heard again. Arthur's heart clenched.

All the times he had told Merlin to shut up, this is not what he had in mind. The guilt of those words weighed down upon the king's shoulders as he looked upon his now mute friend. He wouldn't wish this fate upon anyone, least of all Merlin.

It broke Arthur's heart while simultaneously making his blood boil. These men not only kidnapped, beat, and broke his friend but also permanently disabled him. For life. No matter where Merlin's life went after this, he would always carry what happened to him with him whether he wanted to or not. No one deserved that, especially Merlin.

Now, the two of them were silently making their way back to Camelot after Arthur had been forced to lead Melin away by his bonds. As much as it pained him, they had to keep up pretenses, at least until they reached the tree line and he could relieve Merlin of both his bonds and the hassle of walking. A bag of dried powder that was supposedly a months supply of the wretched drug had been placed in his hand despite his assurances that it would not be necessary. But Doran had just given Arthur a wink and refused to take the small bag back.

He had almost been unable to do it, anger coursing so strongly through his blood. And the guilt. The guilt was killing him. It was all his fault, he knew that. It was his duty as king to serve and protect his people and he had failed his most loyal of subjects. And now it was practically eating him alive.

Gwaine, Percival, and Leon, once they had painstakingly tracked and discovered Merlin's whereabouts, had refused to let Arthur go on this mission alone and were, at this moment, patiently waiting for the king to return just a short distance from the market. They had even offered to go and personally retrieve Merlin themselves knowing what they might—or might not—find in the process. But Arthur had refused, knowing he needed to do this himself. It was only a small fraction of what he owed Merlin.

Arthur was brought out of his thoughts by a small gasp from the young man sitting in front of him as the horse jostled them slightly.

"Merlin? You alright? Do you need to stop?"

Black hair shook vigorously in negative but stopped abruptly as his body tensed with the movement even more. Arthur winced. Riding was probably not helping him much if he was injured, as Arthur assumed he was. The king pulled on the reins, effectively halting the horse's progress and hopped off before taking ahold of the reins once more.

"You're a terrible liar, Merlin. Really, I don't even know why you try." Arthur sighed, glancing at their surrounding before his expression turning serious. "We should be far enough away from the market now."

Arthur turned back to Merlin, still atop the horse. He knew what came next and despite his desire to remain ignorant of just how poorly his servant had been treated, he needed to know what injuries the man had sustained that were hidden beneath his tattered clothes. He looked up at his friend, a mask of indifference shielding his worry.

Dark blue eyes stared back at him, begging him, pleading with him through the drug induced haze that clouded them to just let it go, that he was fine and to just take him home, away from the hell he had been living for the past two weeks. The guilt in Arthur grew. He just wanted to give in, to do whatever it took to please Merlin, but he knew this was not something he could ignore. His friend could be injured, severely, and delaying the inevitable would only make it worse.

"I'm sorry Merlin but I have to. You know I have to. I would wait until we met up with the others but I'm afraid you'd only worsen."

Merlin made a strangled sort of noise, eyes going wide and fear flashing across his face. It took a moment for Arthur to realize that his friend was trying to speak out of habit but unable to form words around his disability. It drove an arrow of sorrow straight through Arthur's heart, making him physically wince and look away so Merlin wouldn't have to see the pity in his eyes.

But ignoring that, Arthur understood what his friend wanted, what the fear that had shone in his eyes was all about.

Merlin didn't want anyone else to see him like this.

And Arthur couldn't blame him. He would feel the same way in Merlin's position. But there was no helping it. They were going to see him eventually.

"Well, I couldn't come alone now could I?" Arthur chided, trying to mask his emotions as he cocked his eyebrow at his friend and he slowly helped him down off the horse. "Not that they would let me anyway," he mumbled.

A small smile made an appearance on Merlin's face but it was soon replaced with a wince as his feet hit the ground and his left leg took his weight. He quickly straightened as best he could and schooled his expression, before glancing up at Arthur through his lashes, no doubt checking if the king had seen. Arthur just rolled his eyes, letting out a huff. Of course he had seen. Arthur was not as oblivious as everyone thought he was. And Merlin really was an idiot sometimes.

The king helped his friend over to a nearby tree and sat him down before going to his saddlebags and retrieving the small medical kit Gaius had given him before they left. It was Merlin's kit, the one he brought with him when he followed Arthur on every mission and every patrol. It seemed almost ironic that his friend's own kit would now be used upon its owner. Almost.

Arthur crouched before his friend and hesitated. He didn't know where to start. This was the first time he had actually been able to scrutinize his friend's condition up close. Merlin's tunic was practically hanging off his thin frame in rags, tears and rips dotted throughout the now threadbare fabric. His trousers were none the better, coated in dirt and filth with a few holes and tears of their own, especially in the knees as though he had spent a lot of time upon them. Arthur gritted his teeth against the rising anger, trying his best to force it back down and focus on the task at hand. On Merlin.

There wasn't much he could do to change what had happened to his friend, only heal the scars that were left behind. It was with that thought that Arthur glanced up at Merlin's face and with a slight nod from the lanky young man, began the daunting task before him.

Arthur had always been one to downplay an injury or brush off a broken bone as though it were nothing but a scratch, but he had to admit that Merlin was a mess. After peeling off the layers of rags the young man wore, Arthur could see nothing of the pale skin that usually painted his body. Instead, there was layers upon layers of bruising, blood, and dirt all vying for attention upon his friend's body. Everything from deep gashes upon his chest to large black bruises upon his lower back depicted the suffering he had gone through when at the mercy of those slavers.

And with every new injury Arthur uncovered he had to take a few seconds to calm himself so he wouldn't end up charging back into that hell hole and laying it to waste. He couldn't understand why anyone would ever treat another human being like this, let alone Merlin. The young man couldn't even stand to watch Arthur kill a rabbit.

But after about an hour, rolls upon rolls of bandages and plenty of clean water, Merlin was bandaged up to the best of Arthur's ability. He was actually proud of the job he had done, deeming it fit for the supplies he had and the time frame he was working within. Even Merlin gave him an approving nod as he moved his left leg where a particularly nasty gash on his thigh had been cleaned and wrapped.

But there was one injury Arthur had been putting off, not due to the gruesomeness of it but because he knew Merlin was ashamed of it. But like the rest, there was no way around it. He had to make sure his servant was alright and better to do it here away from the knights and prying eyes than later.

As though reading his mind, Merlin's eyes locked onto Arthur's, the same desperate pleading as before shining out of their depths. And it broke Arthur's heart even more, knowing he couldn't put it off any longer. He needed to make sure.

"Don't look at me like that Merlin. You know I have to. It could be infected, or worse…"Arthur trailed off not knowing what else to say. He paused for a second, hoping Merlin would relent easily, but the young man was keeping his mouth firmly shut, defiance set upon his face even as his eyes continued to plead with Arthur.

"Oh come on _Mer_lin, don't be such a girl's petticoat." Even as he said it, Arthur winced at the jibe. He wanted to revert to their old banter, to go back to the teasing and insults he always fell back upon in these kinds of situations. But he knew he couldn't. Not now that they had become entirely one-sided.

But Merlin just shot Arthur a look, one that the king could clearly read as a denial to his statement. Arthur couldn't help but let out a chuckle. It was such a Merlin look. Even without having to say a word, Arthur could tell that Merlin had insulted him back. Probably something to do with calling him a prat and a reminder to the king's days confined to his bed with a cold that he wouldn't stop complaining and whining about. No, not whining, king's didn't whine. Merely...voicing his displeasure.

Maybe things could go back to the way they were, despite what Merlin had been through.

As Arthur sobered up quickly, he focused back on Merlin and understood. No, things wouldn't be the same. At least, not as they had been before. His friend, his servant had lost the ability to speak. The never ending chatter, quick insults and jibes, and even the unexpected wise advice were never to be heard again.

"Merlin, please," Arthur tried again, this time, more sincerely than he had ever been before. Probably in his entire life. "It's necessary, you must know that. Gaius would agree. Now please, open your mouth."

It was the mention of the old physician that did it, Arthur told himself.

He tried to ignore the way Merlin's eyes dimmed into ones of submission, as though it was no longer Merlin's will that was in control. He tried to tell himself that Merlin could still refuse if he wanted to. But he knew it was a lie. The haze that completely clouded over his friend's eyes with that simple direct order told him that Merlin was no longer in control. The drug still pumping through his system was. And Arthur had—however unknowingly—just brought it back into play.

He was no better than the slavers.

Guilt crashed through Arthur like a wave so strong he had to forcibly stop himself from retching. He felt dirty all over again, just as cruel and heartless as the men who had harmed his friend. How could he have forced Merlin's hand like this after everything the young man had been through? After the way he was treated? And now here was Arthur, treating him the same way by using the drug's effects to his advantage. Granted, he hadn't known exactly how the drug worked. He had thought Doran's claim that Merlin had still talked back despite the drug meant that his friend was unaffected by it.

Clearly that was not the case.

Arthur shook his head, pushing all the thoughts now waring for attention to the back of his mind. He couldn't focus on that now. Later, once they had joined with the others and Arthur could go off and beat himself up about all that had occurred.

The king gently grasped his friend's chin, tilting it down to give him a better vantage point into his mouth. There, at the bottom, where his tongue should be, was a stump, red and angry. Arthur felt the need to retch all over again. Seeing it made it all the more real. Made it so that he could no longer hold onto any shred of hope he had held since being told or his friend's condition. Not that he had held onto much.

But the wound didn't appear infected, despite the raw and blunt look.

Arthur quickly released his friend's jaw, not wanting to look anymore and knowing there was nothing that he needed or could do for the wound.

He felt the overwhelming need to get moving, to reach his knights in an almost cowardly desire to no longer be alone with the evidence of his mistakes. He couldn't even bring himself to look his friend in the eye, not with the drugged haze still residing there accusingly.

So without any further words, afraid he would make his friend's state worse by accidently ordering him about, Arthur carefully and gently got Merlin back on the horse before mounting the animal himself. He circled his arms around his friend to ensure he wouldn't fall off, grasped the reins and urged the horse on toward his knights, toward Camelot.

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**A/N: **Well that was fun! Yes, I know I'm a sadistic evil person for enjoying that but hey, you all are reading so you cant be that far off either ;) hahaha. Next chapter we meet up with the knights! Hurray! I'll be honest, I dunno really where I'm taking this story. I just wanted to write about what life would be like in Camelot for Merlin if he suddenly found himself mute (plus its an excuse to put the poor man through hell. Sorry can't help it). So yeah we shall get some present Merlin POV chapters later along with more flashbacks to his time with the slavers including how he became mute. Fun stuff. Ok I'll stop talking now. Until next time, my magical friends, have fun be safe and don't die :D


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Alright I know I know, I'm SUPER late on this update. But I have legitimate excuses, like having finally gotten a job in the wardrobe department a feature film and having to work 12 hours a day on set on top of my previous part-time job. Seriously I have been exhausted. But now it has slowed down somewhat and not as hectic and just in time for NanoWriMo! Yes I am going to write my heart out for this fic as part of my Nano piece so I'm hoping to be updating more frequently now (crosses finger that that will remain true). Also I apologize for any mistakes made. My beta is a little busy and I was impatient to get this chapter out to you guys so any mistakes made are entirely mine and feel free to point them out to me (nicely) so I can correct them. Anyway, here's the next chapter and its extra long to make up for my slacking! Enjoy!

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Arthur could almost see the exhaustion taking over Merlin's body when he finally jerked on the reins and steered the horse off the road toward the camp, but the young man continued to fight it off with determination. The king knew his friend was dreading the reunion with the knights, almost to the point of fear if the increasing tension in his shoulders as they neared the break in the trees ahead was anything to go by. He wished he could spare Merlin the humiliation and pity but the fact was it couldn't be helped. They were sure to follow the young servant like a shadow wherever he went now.

A fresh new wave of guilt washed over Arthur. But he didn't have any time to wallow in it.

They had arrived.

The horse broke through the remainder of the trees, entering the clearing that held the knights' make-shift camp. To the untrained eye, the small clearing looked uninhabited in even the smallest sense. But Arthur knew they were here. He was just thankful his men had actually followed his ridiculous orders to remain hidden. The protests that had resulted from that order were to be expected, especially from Gwaine, but it was for all their safety. If the slavers had somehow discovered Arthur's true identity, questions may have led them to the nearby camp and therefore put his men in danger along with himself and Merlin. Better to just risk himself than put them all in danger.

They were the only ones that knew where Merlin was, that had discovered the truth about his whereabouts. They hadn't wanted to waste any time informing the council or the queen of their discovery, just wanted to get Merlin back immediately and not leave him in enemy hands any longer. So without reporting back to the citadel nor attempting to rest and regroup, the small group of determined knights and their king had set out immediately.

Arthur let out a high three note whistle, a signal to his men that it was their king. In front of him, Merlin tensed, pulled taut like a bow string.

"It'll be alright, Merlin," Arthur soothed, hesitating slightly before patting the young man on the shoulder awkwardly. Comforting was not his strong point, especially comforting injured manservants. And really he had only had to do it once before, when Merlin had been struck down in the middle of an ambush in the Valley of the Fallen Kings. But at the time, Merlin had been able to lightened the mood by cracking jokes and keeping up a steady stream of banter so that Arthur's attempts at comfort were less awkward and more like their usual interactions. Except one of them had been dying. Now however, there was no banter, no jokes to be had. Just a silent nod from the man in front of him.

And it was the silence that Arthur couldn't tolerate. But he had to. If not just for his own sake, but also for Merlin's. He didn't want Merlin to know or see how much his newfound handicap was affecting him. Not when he was still able to do the things Merlin wasn't. It was hard enough on the young man to have to learn to live around his disability. He didn't need the added strain of guilt that Arthur knew he would feel if the king were to express his frustration. Merlin was just that way. He took the discomfort and anger and pain he caused others and blamed himself even though he had no reason to. He couldn't help that the slavers had decided to mutilate him, to take away his standard form of communication and make his way of life more difficult. But still, he would blame himself no matter who was really at fault. The selfless idiot.

The snapping of branches broke through Arthur's thoughts and he glanced up, sighing in relief at the sight of his knights making their way through the last of the underbrush. He dismounted in one graceful movement before reaching up and gently helping Merlin down from atop the horse. He tried to set the man on his feet as gently as possible, wary of the gash on Merlin's left leg but the wince on his friend's face as he set him down said he hadn't done a very good job.

"Ah Merlin mate aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Gwaine beamed as the pair slowly approached the building fire Percival had immediate set about starting, Merlin leaning on Arthur as exhaustion got the better of him. "I was just telling Leon here how much I missed your constant chatter this trip. It was seriously dull without you mate. I had to fill in the silence by myself!"

Arthur winced as he watched Merlin's face fall. It wasn't Gwaine's fault, he didn't know. But that didn't stop the rage from building up within him.

"Gwaine." Arthur's voice held a warning tone as he released Merlin into the mentioned knights care in order to retrieve and lay out a bedroll by the fire for his friend. With a quick glance though he could see that the young knight didn't pick up on the warning. Gwaine opened his mouth to continue his innate speech, but Arthur cut him off quickly before the knight could make things worse than he already had.

"Why don't you go fetch some freshwater," Arthur suggested, turning to face the knight, his glare enough to shut anyone up and do as he requests. Except Gwaine of course.

"But-"

"Now, Gwaine." The order came out as more of a growl than a command. But Arthur couldn't care less right at the moment. Unbenounced to him, Gwaine had just inflicted a blow onto Merlin's already crumbling resolve and courage.

The knight grit his teeth in anger, his whole body coiled for a fight. But with one glance at Merlin, Gwaine gave the servant a pat on the back, letting go of the boy as the knight took a step back before performing an exaggerated mock bow. "Yes, _your majesty_," he spit out, sarcasm and disdain dripping from every word like poison. Then he turned, snatched up a couple of water skins and stomped off into the forest.

Arthur let out a sigh and turned back to his main concern, afraid of what he might find.

Merlin had lowered himself down onto the bedroll and was just sitting there by the fire, head down staring at his clasped hands. It was still only about mid-day and the sun high enough that their campsite was fairly well heated but Arthur had ordered a fire be lit. He knew Merlin's now threadbare rags that he had for clothing were doing next to nothing against the elements—not like the knights' tunic, doublet and chainmail which made Arthur a very poor judge on how warm it really was in the clearing—and the young man would catch his death if they didn't keep him warm. He even threw a blanket over Merlin's shoulders just as an extra precaution and was rewarded for it when the young man drew it in close around him

Arthur may not have been able to see Merlin's face as the young man had his head down, but he could read his emotions through the slump of his shoulders and the sagging of his limbs. He was wallowing in sorrow, being slowly eaten apart by self pity, guilt, and shame and Arthur hated it. He couldn't help it if his rage was at first directed toward Gwaine for bringing this back to the forefront for Merlin but that rage soon turn toward those that deserve it.

The slavers.

They were the whole reason behind Merlin's current depression—because that's what it was no matter how many times Arthur told himself otherwise, that Merlin would be back to his old bubbly self in no time—and Arthur would love nothing more than to march right back to that hell they called home and slaughter the lot of them. He wanted to kill them a thousand times over for what they did to his friend and he had no doubt that once the rest of the knights knew, they would be right there beside him committing mass murder.

The knights. Arthur sighed, running his hand down his face in resignation. He knew he had to tell them, knew he had to let them know what had been done to Merlin but he didn't want to. If not only because it was hard for him to relay what had befallen his friend but because he knew Merlin would hate the pity, anger, and concern that he would receive upon the knight's realization. And Arthur really didn't want to put his friend through any more than he had already been through. But the truth was they were going to find out anyway and it would be better for them to do so through Arthur than through their own discovery. Better for Merlin anyway. Or so he hoped.

"Leon. Percival," he called out as calmly as he could, trying not to betray in his voice the devastating news he was about to relay to them. The knights in question looked up, their eyes meeting their king's and nodding as one as they understood his need to talk to them privately. He jerked his head to the side, toward where Gwaine had disappeared and strode off in that direction. He could hear the footfalls of his knights following.

As luck would have it, Gwaine was just returning from the river, his low agitated mumblings reaching Arthur's ears as he stepped into the surrounding forest. Gwaine looked up at the sound of Arthur's footsteps and scowled.

"What? I got the water, _milord_. Was there something else the princess desired or do you just want to berate me some...more," Gwaine broke off as Leon and Percival came into view, stepping up behind Arthur. "What's going on?"

"There's something I need to warn you all about before you discover it for yourselves."

"No," Gwaine whispered almost to himself as his face fell before being replaced with one of complete and utter rage. His hands balled into fists around the waterskins still clutched in them. "What did they do to him?" he growled.

Arthur cleared his throat, trying to figure out a way to say this without it sounding too harsh. "Merlin wasn't very...let's just say he was being himself and wasn't very cooperative with his captors." Arthur gave a nervous chuckle but quickly sobered. "Apparently he ran his mouth quite a bit and well, the slavers didn't like that very much." He gave a frustrated sigh, not really liking the way this conversation was sounding. There was just no way around the truth. He gritted his teeth, giving up all pretenses to putting this gently. These were his knights, they could handle the news. They would handle it, they had no choice, Arthur would see to that. "They cut out his tongue."

At first there was nothing but shocked silence from all three of the knights as they processed the news. Then Gwaine broke it with an almighty roar, throwing the waterskins against the nearest tree and quickly following up with his fist. The tree didn't retaliate.

"You mean he can't—," Leon broke off with a wince, eyes locked on Arthur's as he silently pleaded with Arthur to take back what he said and reassure them all that Merlin could still speak.

But all Arthur could do was shake his head sadly.

Gwaine roared again, hands scrabbling for the sword at his waist and pulling it free of its scabbard. "I'LL KILL THEM!" He screamed.

"Gwaine keep it down!" Arthur hissed reaching over and grasping the young knight's sword arm to keep him from doing anything rash. "Don't you think this is hard enough on Merlin without him having to hear you raging about? He doesn't want your pity, he doesn't want your concern. He just wants things to go back to the way they were. To go back to Camelot. To go back home."

Arthur stole a glance at Leon and Percival, both of whom wore expressions of grief but resignation upon their faces. They understood that there was nothing that they could do as of now to retaliate. The most important thing they could do was get Merlin safely back home.

"Percival. Could you go back and watch over Merlin. Start up some broth for him. He's bound to be starving but in his state, I doubt his stomach can handle more than that."

Percival nodded and turned to go.

"And Percival," the giant of a man stopped and turned back to his king. "Be gentle with him but try not to treat him any different. He hates that." Percival sighed but managed to crack a small smile. He nodded again and strode back to camp.

"You think I'm just going to let those bastards get away with what they did to him?!" Arthur's attention tuned back to Gwaine as the man continued his rage, only this time, thankfully, with his voice lowered.

"No, I sincerely hope you don't," Arthur said his face expressing the seriousness of his words. "But we can't focus on that at the moment. For now our priority needs to be getting Merlin back to Camelot safely. Then and only then, can we return to attempt to remedy that which has been wronged."

Gwaine gave another frustrated growl before calming down slightly and giving his king a nod. "I'll hold you to that."

"I expect you to." Arthur clasped the man on the shoulder in a sign of comradeship before turning and heading back into camp, Gwaine and Leon on his heels.

With the news about Merlin's disability now known amongst them, Arthur noticed that the knights, though attempting to treat the young man the same, were doing a pretty piss poor job of it. Gwaine was by far the best, still cracking jokes and telling the most absurd stories but even Arthur could tell it was forced and the young knight's almost rambling words were betraying his attempts to lighten the mood. And if Arthur noticed it, he damn well knew Merlin could.

The young man was still sitting cross-legged—although fidgeting constantly as though his energy had returned ten-fold and he just couldn't sit still—on the bedroll where he had deposited himself when they arrived, even though it was now starting to get dark. A bowl of broth Percival had made and spooned out for him sat cradled in his lap and hands, steam long since disappeared as the liquid had cooled. Merlin was just staring sadly down at the meal, desire and longing evident on his face even as he made no move to eat.

"Merlin you have to eat something," Arthur sighed getting up from across the fire and plopping himself down beside his friend. "Come on," he chuckled in an attempt to remain lighthearted. "You can't tell me you're not hungry after all these years of stealing food off my plate when I'm not looking."

He regretted the words almost as soon as he spoke them. The joke had just spewed out of his mouth without first going through his mental filter. Years of cracking such jokes and not having to worry about their implication had put his guard down. He needed to watch what he said from now on. Even little every day sayings, any that referred to the ability or inability to say, speak, or talk would have to be stricken from his vocabulary. For Merlin's sake.

Even though all the knights subtly glanced up at him, expressions ranging from silent worry, to shock, and in Gwaine's case, a murderous glare, Merlin seemed not to notice. He just shifted slightly as a small tremble traveled all through his body before settling in his hands. His face showed barely masked anxiety behind the sadness and longing.

"You must eat, mate," Gwaine said, interrupting Arthur's thoughts. "Gaius would never forgive me if I brought you back worse than how we found you."

Merlin sighed, another tremble running through his body and shook his head, setting the bowl aside, drawing his knees up as he grasped the blanket around his shoulders and drew it tighter around him. But he wasn't fast enough. Arthur had noticed the slight shaking of his hands. He really hoped it wasn't a sign of infection setting in. He had just inspected and re-wrapped Merlin's injuries not an hour earlier and everything had looked as well as to be expected.

Arthur sighed. "I know its not much but I'm afraid its all your stomach can handle right now," he stated, apologetically.

Merlin gave Arthur a put-out sidelong glance, his expression clearly saying "I know that, you clotpole. I _live_ with Gaius" before fidgeting again and tucking his head into his knees.

Arthur glanced up and met Gwaine's eyes. The knight cocked his eyebrow, silently asking Arthur what they should do. Arthur just shrugged. He had no idea what to do about Merlin. He wanted to say the young man had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since they had gotten him back but then that was now to be the norm. Really, Merlin had been unsociable, completely withdrawn and Arthur had seen him tremble every once in a while as thought re-living some memory he would much rather forget. At first he had given them smiles, forced yes, but smiles nonetheless. But now it was as if a switch had been turned and Merlin was shutting them out. All their attempts to engage him in their conversation despite his inability to add input had been ignored. He hadn't touched his food and refused any help or anything the knights offered him.

And Arthur wanted to attribute it to the young man's experience with the slavers and being exhausted, he really did. But the truth of the matter was that despite the bags under his eyes, Merlin was more anxious than it wasn't an anxiety that said he expected them all to be attacked at any moment. No. It was more of just an inability to stay still, to rest and recooparate. it was as though the young man had too much energy and his body just couldn't contain it. It had started just an hour earlier, when the young man had gotten up from his place, Arthur and the knights had jumped to their feet immediately to assist him only to be glowered at somewhat spectacularly as Merlin made his own way to the edge of camp. He came back not a minute later but refused to sit back down, instead opting to walk circles around the camp despite the fact that his injured leg must have been causing him some discomfort. Then about an hour later he had settled down again on the bedroll and remained there.

"I think its time we turn in for the night," Arthur said nonchalantly, trying to sound as though he wasn't giving an order but hinting that it was one all the same.

Gwaine caught his eye and nodded his understanding, Leon and Percival following suit.

"I'll take first watch," Leon said gathering up his sword and making his way to the edge of camp. Arthur nodded then glanced over at Merlin.

The servant had already lay himself down, his body curled up under the blanket, face and head hidden from view. For some reason, the sight caused a pang of worry to go through Arthur. The young man just looked so vulnerable curled up as though in pain or trying to make himself small. It was not a way he wished Merlin to look or feel and he wanted nothing more at that moment that to take back all that had been done to his friend and go back to the way things had been.

But all he had been able to do so far was stalk off by himself an hour after they had arrived at camp and rage at the unfairness of the world. His rage had soon died down and morphed to immense guilt that threatened to crush him with the enormity of it. He had begun to hyperventilate, unable to handle all that he felt and would have passed out or worse if a little voice in his head that sounded annoyingly like a certain black-haired servant hadn't told him to just breathe, that everything would be alright if he just stayed strong and stopped blaming himself for something that was out of his control. It was not his fault, the voice kept saying until Arthur had once again regained control of his breathing and slumped down against a tree.

It was only then that Arthur realized that was the first time he had heard Merlin's voice in over a week. Granted it was only a part of his memory and inside his head but still he couldn't help the smile that spread across his face at the sound of it.

Arthur once again tore himself out of his thoughts and glanced around, seeing that both Percival and Gwaine had settled down for the night and Merlin appeared to be already asleep—though Arthur couldn't see his face. Good, Arthur thought. No doubt the young man could use some sleep.

He gave a small smile toward Merlin's back. Even though the circumstances were far from desirable, Arthur was just thankful that they had managed to get Merlin back. Maybe not in one whole piece, but enough to still be thankful. He was alive and that was what mattered. They could deal with the other problems when they presented themselves, but for now, he was just happy to have his friend back.

With those thoughts, Arthur banked the fire and laid down on his bedroll, the stress and anxiety of the day taking their toll and causing him to fall asleep in seconds.

"Arthur." He was roused from sleep by a soft but insistent voice. Years of battle honed senses meant he was awake in seconds and on his feet and alert with his sword in his hand in a few more. His eyes scanned the surroundings in front of him, taking in the all but deserted campsite. Bedrolls lay abandoned beside his own, the sky still dark. But what was strange was the blazing heat coming off the roaring fire to his back. He could have sworn he banked the fire himself before lying down. Yet he could feel the intense heat and the sweat that coated his body from having been so close to the flame.

"Arthur." He whipped around at the repetition of his name, recognizing Leon's voice immediately and noting that while it wasn't his we're-under-attack voice, it was rather urgent and slightly concerned. Immediately Arthur knew the reason behind that voice.

Merlin.

The young man was where Arthur had left him, on the spare bedroll the king himself had laid out for his friend by the fire. He was sitting up, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them with us head buried in the space his limbs created. And he was not alone. Gwaine was kneeling beside him, trying to coax the servant out of his makeshift shell with soft tones and gentle touches. Percival was just beyond the two, having obviously just returned from collecting more firewood. Well that at least explained the now roaring fire.

Leon was standing beside the pair, his expression one of concern for the servant before him and slight panic that Arthur knew meant the knight was at a loss of what to do. And that in itself was enough to make Arthur worried.

Leon always kept a straight head, always seeming to understand and be able to make a decision even in the face of extreme peril. But this, this was a rarity. Leon panicking, even if only slightly, had Arthur dropping his sword in an instant and sprinting to kneel on Merlin's other side.

It was only then that Arthur could see what had them all worried. Merlin was shaking, his body wracked with violent tremors that he seemed unable to repress despite the tensing of his shoulders that hinted to Arthur he was attempting to do just that.

Arthur pulled back the hand he had unknowingly moved to lay upon his friend's shoulder. He didn't know what was wrong and didn't want to hurt the young man anymore than he already was. Instead he clasped his hands awkwardly on his folded knees, not quite knowing what to do now.

"What's wrong with him?" Arthur asked, trying in vain to keep his own worry out of his voice. And failing miserably.

"We don't know," Leon said, not even attempting to hide the concern in his voice. He huffed out a frustrated sigh but clearly wasn't going to be giving Arthur anymore information. And Arthur didn't really expect him to. When the man was frustrated he tended to clam up and only talk in short abrupt sentences. It was his way of coping with what was happening and his inability to put a stop to it.

Arthur turned to Gwaine.

The brunette was gritting his teeth in frustration, having stopped trying to coax Merlin out ever since Arthur had joined him beside the young servant. Without taking his eyes off the blank-haired servant in front of him, Gwaine somehow knew that Arthur was silently asking him the same question.

"I don't know what to do, " Gwaine admitted, his voice low and unsure, wavering slightly under the strain of indecision. He took a deep breath, collecting himself slightly before continuing. "I thought at first he was cold seeing as he is nothing but skin and bones right now and his clothing is doing absolutely nothing to help him retain any semblance of body heat. But even after I piled on an extra blanket and moved him closer to the fire the tremors still refused to recede and only seemed to get worse. It wasn't until he threw up—" Arthur immediately glanced around, noticing the mentioned pile of sick not a few feet from where he now knelt. It was worrisome to say the least. "—that I knew something was wrong but I—can't—he can't tell me—I don't know—" Gwaine broke off with a growl as he launched himself up and slammed his fist into the nearest tree.

Beside him, Merlin give a particularly violent tremble at the noise.

"Gwaine calm down. This isn't helping," Percival stated, trying to ease the young knight's frustration. But Arthur knew it too was in vain.

"Isn't helping? Isn't helping?! Nothing is helping!" Gwaine bellowed. "We finally get him back from those animals only to discover they not only beat him and starved him but also mutilated him and now this! They have done more to him than we originally thought and he's not even able to tell us what's wrong cause THEY CUT OUT HIS FUCKING TONGUE!" The knight hit the tree again, a growl of rage and pain following as the skin of his hand broke open.

By now, Merlin's trembling had become so violent it was becoming a difficult task for him to maintain his hunched and huddled position, his hands refusing to remain clasped despite his many attempts to keep them so. His body was no longer under his control, Arthur could see that. But it was when the young man grasped his head with shaking hands as though trying to physically keep it from breaking open that Arthur understood what was happening.

"Well yelling isn't going to help either, Gwaine. Look at him." He nodded to the young man besides him. Gwaine followed his line of sight, finally settling upon his friend. Immediately the fight completely drained out of him. Merlin's whole body had tensed like a bow string as the tremors continued and sweat starting to bead upon his forehead. It was clear that the loud noises of raised voices were causing the young man pain. Mostly likely a killer headache, Arthur concluded. "You're only making it worse," he stated as calmly as he could.

Throwing all caution the wind in a desperate attempt to do something, anything to try and ease the young man's obvious pain, Arthur gently placed his hand on the young man's shoulder, wanting nothing more than to still the shaking body below his fingers but knowing force would do absolutely nothing in this case.

And almost recoiled at the heat he felt there. But he kept his hand upon his friend's shoulder despite it and even moved his other hand up to his neck, searching for his pulse. It was racing and uneven. Very worrying indeed.

Instead of flinching or cringing in pain like Arthur had originally expected, Merlin gave a slight almost resigned sigh. Like it was an inevitable fate waiting for him and Arthur had just brought it to him on a silver platter.

It was only when the knight had stopped his rant and silence once again fell over the group that the soft protesting noises could be heard, mix between a groan and some half formed word. Merlin's unconscious attempt at speech had them all wincing in sympathy. He had not tried it often but sometimes it was like Merlin forgot he lacked a vital muscle required to produce words and tried to speak before remembering and looking away in shame.

All eyes were now on the huddled form of their pained friend, a range of emotions from pity to guilt to concern and, in Gwaine's case, all three filled them.

"How long has he been like this?" Arthur asked, a mask of authority now firmly in place upon his face.

"An hour at most. I first noticed him about half-way through my shift. He was buried so deeply under the blanket that if I hadn't seen the shaking, I would never had known something was wrong," Gwaine stated, his voice not calm but definitely lower.

"An hour? Why didn't you wake me at once?" Arthur's annoyance at having been the last to be notified was unsurmountable. Merlin was his friend, his _servant_. He should have been the first person Gwaine had turned to.

"He didn't want me to."

"What? Why not?" Arthur asked, shocked. He thought Merlin would have wanted his help first and foremost. They spent every waking hour together knew everything there was to know about one another so why wasn't he the first person Merlin turned to at a time like this?

"Well I don't know, now do I," Gwaine hissed angrily. "He can't bloody well tell me."

"Gwaine," Percival warned from the other side of the fire, arms crossed.

"Yes, I know, I know. Not helping," the young knight growled before starting to pace.

"What do we do, sire?" Percival asked.

Arthur wracked his brain, trying to think of what could possibly more could possibly be wrong with his friend. The first thought that came to mind was the young man's leg wound. But as he reached out to roll up Merlin's pant leg in order to inspect the wound, Gwaine's voice interrupted.

"I already checked. Its not infected."

Arthur growled in frustration, immediately apologizing to Merlin as the noise caused him to flinch. But he didn't know what to do. All signs pointed toward some sort of infection or unseen wound, but Arthur had examined Merlin twice and found no other damage. Nonetheless, Arthur strode over to where he had left Merlin's medical kit and quickly snatched it up, knocking something out of the saddlebag in the process. He meant to just ignore it, but as he glanced down to ensure it wasnt anything important, he froze.

And suddenly it all made perfect sense.

The shaking, the headaches, the vomiting, even the anxiety and restlessness earlier on in the day, it all pointed to one thing. It was why Merlin was now sweating profusely, his body fever hot even as he continued to tremble and shake.

Arthur strode back to the group, his eyes focused on the object in his hands without really seeing it.

"Arthur? What is it?," Percival, the closest to him and the first to notice Arthur's distraction, asked worriedly. Arthur immediately schooled his features, knowing that even as he did so, his knight's had most likely already seen his expression.

"He's going through withdrawals," Arthur stated matter-of-factly, trying to not let his voice betray the emotions that were now coursing through his body as he held up the small bag of dried powder that Doran had given him.

He looked up, eyes finding Merlin almost immediately and surprised to find the young man looking back at him. But it was the plea that shone out of the deep blue depths of his eyes that had Arthur hesitating, rooted to the spot with shock.

And realization hit Arthur again like a tidal wave.

The reason behind Merlin refusing to let the knights wake Arthur, the resignation in his eyes as he felt Arthur's touch. He knew that Arthur would know or at least discover the reasoning behind his current affliction. And he even knew that despite the drugs ability to make the pain of withdrawals go away, it would bring him back to a state of drugged compliance without will and without control. And he didn't want to experience that again, especially in front of the knights. Arthur could see it written clearly in his friends desperate pleading eyes.

Along with a determination so strong it scared Arthur.

No matter what relief it would bring, what suffering he would avoid, Merlin was determined to do whatever it took to never have to taste that wretched drug again.

And Arthur couldn't blame him.

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**A/N:** TA-DA! Hope you enjoyed it! Please review because who the hell doesn't like getting reviews?! They make my day and encourage me keep writing and get chapters out faster. Until next time, have fun be safe and don't die!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Yes I know I know, I'm super late...again. I really hope not to make this a regular thing but sometimes it cant be helped. Have been SO busy this week I have hardly even slept. And yeah, I've basically failed in NanoWriMo seeing as I'm like a whole week behind (not giving up on this story yet though...I have way too many plans for it!). But really no one cares for my excuses, they just want the story and well, I CAN DO ZAT I CAN DO ZAT! So anyway, here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

PS: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I love you all and its just so great to see how much everyone enjoys and reacts to my story. And special thanks to April29Roses for all your insightful knowledge on the effects loosing a tongue has on one's life. Really it was a great help!

* * *

_-Two days earlier-_

He could feel the drug coursing through his bloodstream, putting his mind in a fog. He knew what he was doing, could feel everything see everything and hear everything, but it was as though he was watching himself go through the motions, no longer in control of his own body. And it was driving him insane.

He wanted his body back, he wanted his freedom back, he wanted to be rid of this damn drug. And for short periods of time, he was, as long as the order he was given wasn't direct the drug wouldn't affect him as much. He assumed it was his magic at work, shielding his mind as best as it could. Even sometimes his magic would react on its own, boiling in his veins as though it too was fed up with the lack of control, sending fiery pain through his veins while giving him clarity for a couple of minutes. But his magic quickly exhausted itself and retreated to the back of his mind after only a minute or two if he was lucky.

He lived for those moments, those few minutes where he could shake off the drug's hold and finally breathe. He was never able to channel the power he had been born with then but the reprieve was like cool water on a hot day.

But it was those minutes that were also the worst. Because he could clearly see and understand where he was and knew what was happening to him and the other slaves here. And knew he was powerless to stop it.

It was not a feeling he was used to. Like the Dorocha all over again. The feeling of complete powerlessness and despair as he was forced to watch and able to do nothing. He saw slaves get beat, be driven so hard they collapsed from exhaustion, and even outright killed if they proved more hassle than they were worth. He had even experienced this first hand. But it was the others' suffering he couldn't stand. And he couldn't do a thing about it.

He realized in those moments just how much he relied upon his magic to get himself and others out of sticky situations. How much he didn't even think about what he was about to do because he knew if things took a turn for the worse, he still had his magic to fall back upon.

But that was no longer the case. And Merlin kept forgetting that.

While he was unable to disobey or physically step out of line, he still fought back the only way he knew how...his mouth. While it seemed the drug repressed his freewill and his magic, it didn't seem to have much affect on his ability to talk, much to his captors' displeasure. For once Merlin got going, he could get under even the most thick skinned man.

But he noticed, he was the only one. Of the few other slaves he saw, none seemed to be able to talk at all. Nods and shakes of the head were all they were able to produce as far as communication. No doubt because the drug was doing what it was supposed to.

Which meant it wasn't for him. He assumed his magic was thwarting it the only way it could and he was thankful for it. Taking away his ability to speak and communicate was, to him, worse than losing his magic. Losing both would have caused him to lose the will to live altogether.

It was the little things he was grateful for at this point.

Even though he did believe that if he couldn't use his magic he might as well be dead, he was unwilling to give up. At least, not yet. There was still hope. He could still feel his magic thrumming beneath his skin, fighting against the drug that pumped through his system and that in itself gave him he strength to go on. If he could get rid of the drug, he could get his magic back.

Then he could burn this place to the ground, leaving nothing but ashes behind.

That thought followed him like a ghost, through the trials and tests to see how fit or worthy a slave was, through the beatings and withdrawals he received as punishment for mouthing off during said trials—he couldn't do a thing about performing them, the slavers had given direct orders he was unable to circumvent but damn it all if he was going to go through them without a fight—and during the market days when he was shackled within a small cage and shown off like a prized bull. It's what kept him from throwing up the white flag and giving up and from taking his own life the one opportunity he got. That and Arthur.

It's not like he thought the prat was coming for him. Oh no, he wasn't that naïve. It was the destiny that still sat snugly upon his shoulders, the fact that so many were relying on him to free them from tyranny that pushed him to strive to live. He had to protect Arthur and morph him into the king he knew he was destined to become. And hell, he wasn't going to give up that easily. He was made of stronger stuff, especially when there was any sliver of hope.

Which there still was despite how small it may be.

Merlin's thoughts were interrupted by a strong prod in the back as he was herded from the living quarters—if they could even be called that. The cells were no bigger than his room back in Camelot and packed with five silent drugged out slaves...it was torture in and of itself—to the cages for another market day. He stumbled slightly, manacles shifting on his raw wrists as his balance was thrown off. Before he could correct it, he had already knocked into the woman chained in front of him, sending her into the man in front of her. Soon enough all five of the slaves in chained together in their procession were sprawled on the ground.

"Get up you worthless pieces of shit!" The flat of a sword slapped Merlin on the ribs and he grit his teeth at the stinging pain it left. But he was unable to dwell on it too much as the drug forced him to his feet even as the pull of the chain connecting him to the woman in front of him threatened to yank him down once more.

Unfortunately, the woman in front of him seemed unable to stand on her own, the fall having injured her right leg further and it refused to take any of her weight. She struggled, the drug's desire to get her on her feet and her body's inability to do so left her practically flopping on the ground. Merlin could see what was about to occur seconds before it did.

"I said get up!" The slaver to Merlin's right—Sadon he believe his name was—yelled, kicking the woman in the side, causing her to shriek in pain. When that didn't produce the results the man so desired, he reached down and grasped the woman's arm violently and propelled her to her feet. But a second later she was once again upon the ground, her leg having crumpled beneath her.

"Lazy good for nothing—" Merlin could see Sadon's tactic change to one of pure cruelty. He was one of the more ruthless and cruel men of the slavers Merlin had come to know—firsthand unfortunately—and knew this was going to end with the woman's death. Right now, in Sadon's eye, she was more hassle than she was worth simply because she was unable to do as he asked. And he wasn't one to pass up the opportunity to dish out a beating until what he demanded was done. Seeing as his demands were more than what the woman could perform, she wouldn't live another day.

The man brought his foot back to kick her once more.

Merlin couldn't let that happen.

"She's worth more than you'll ever be."

The slaver paused, straightened and looked back at Merlin.

"What did you say?" He asked slowly, voice laced with venom.

"What have you got wool in your ears as well as your brain?" A sudden pain blossomed through Merlin's abdomen and he bent over as he struggled to breathe.

"You think you're so smart don't ya?" The man sneered in Merlin's face, spittle flying to land on his cheek. Merlin straightened as best he could and reached up to wipe the moisture off his face, projecting as much disgust as he could. That earned him another punch to the stomach. "You think cause you've retained such a smart mouth you are entitled to use it?"

"Well someone has to have the smarts around here and it sure as hell isn't you." This time the blow was to the head, hard and strong leaving Merlin sprawled on the ground, stars dancing before his greying vision. He didn't know what was wrong with him. It was like one smart comment and his mouth had a mind of its own, refusing to shut. Never had it been this bad though. One or two insults tops then he would come to his senses and shut it before his punishment could get any worse. But this time, he seemed incapable of stopping.

A kick sent Merlin tumbling over, the chains tangling around his body and growing taunt as he was propelled further from the group.

"Sadon, deal with him later," the slaver leading the procession spoke up, his tone bored and annoyed as if this sort of thing happened every day. Which with Sadon's temper and love for cruelty, Merlin mused through the pain in his body, it probably did. "We gotta get these lot to market now. Buyers will be arriving any second now."

Sadon shot a glare toward the man pausing for a second before reaching into his pocket a producing a key. "Dain, take the rest of the rats to the holding area," he spat reaching down and unlocking Merlin from the rest of the group before grabbing his upper arm in a bone-crushing grip and unceremoniously hauling him to his feet. He smirked at Merlin, his eyes glinting with malicious glee that sent a spike of fear running down Merlin's back. "This one's coming with me."

_-present-_

Arthur would have loved to just bang his head against a tree until his sense came back to him, if it ever did. But, despite his annoyingly recent insensitivity toward his friend, Merlin really did need him walking and talking and helping rather than concussed.

Really how could he have been so damn stupid?! Forgetting the drug, yes, that was not a particularly fine moment for him even after seeing the symptoms right in front of his eyes. However, that could be excused by his panic and fear for his friend's health in the moment.

But Merlin hadn't been eating, and by the thin almost borderline emaciated state of his body, he hadn't been eating even before they got him back from the slavers. So, if Arthur's assumptions and observations were to be considered somewhat accurate, that would put Merlin at about 4 to 5 days without food. And that doesn't even count for the lack of water either. Arthur had only seen the young man drink a small sip from a waterskin since they got him back, head thrown back as he literally just dribbled the water straight down his throat. And he had almost choked in the process until Gwaine had pounded him on the back and dislodged the blockage, allowing the liquid to continue on its path. But Arthur hadn't understood the reason behind the lack of sustenance, the refusal or even the strange way the man had to go about the little he took.

No, because Arthur's sense had left him, abandoned him for another that would take better care of it and actually _use_ it on a daily basis especially when a friend's life was at stake.

But Arthur hadn't thought of the use of one's tongue beyond the skill of speech. He had conveniently forgotten that the muscle helps with eating and drinking and how the lack of one would inhibit those abilities greatly. It's still entirely possible to function and retain sustenance, Arthur knew this. Otherwise the slaves he had seen in the past when traveling with his father to bordering kingdoms, they would have perished. Yet some had been that way for years, still living breathing and somehow getting those two bare necessities of life even without the muscle needed to assist them.

He knew it was possible, yet he didn't know how. And from the look of his friend, Merlin hadn't quite figured it out either. Yes, it seemed he had discovered the difficulty that came with his new disability—Arthur could only imagine how horrible that discovery must have been for him—but only figured out how to take in the smallest amount of water. And it pained him—not in the physical sense but mentally—Arthur had seen that. Merlin wanted so badly to quell the hunger pains but without knowing how to go about it without choking to death, it was like dangling the food right out his reach, allowing him to stare at it longingly but never actually touch it as he slowly starved to death.

And not to mention he was now being attacked from the inside by his own body's craving for a drug he didn't want. Merlin was the perfect picture of suffering that Arthur had ever seen. But the determination in his eyes was overwhelming even as he grit his teeth in pain so hard Arthur thought his jaw would break.

"We have to do something," Gwaine hissed at Arthur for the umpteenth time as they quickly packed up the camp. Arthur had given the order to ride out immediately after several failed attempts to persuade Merlin to ease his increasing suffering with a small dose of the drug. It was the only way that he knew of to ease the pains of withdrawal. But the stubborn servant had refused, shaking his head vigorous even though it must have aggravated what Arthur knew had to be a splitting headache. It was no use. Merlin downright refused to take the drug, even when Arthur ordered him to. Not that Merlin ever obeyed his orders anyway.

"We are." Arthur said with a frustrated sigh. "We're getting him to Gaius as fast as possible."

"He may not make it to Gaius!" The young knight faced Arthur completely, all attempts a keeping up pretenses of merely packing up the saddlebags forgotten. "We still have a day's ride until we even see a glimpse of the citadel," he practically shouted. "I have never seen an addict deteriorate so fast and trust me, I've seen plenty of the sorry lot. We can just mix it into his water," he whispered. "He'll never know and may just make it to Camelot still breathing."

Arthur rounded on Gwaine, getting right up into the man's face as he seethed with barely restrained anger . "I will not put him through the same treatment he went through with those bastards."

Gwaine took a step back a look of surprise upon his face. The young knight glanced behind him briefly. Arthur could see Merlin just over Gwaine's shoulder, the black-haired servant now practically curled into a ball as tremors violently wracked his frame. Another pile of sick slightly larger than the first—mostly just bile as he had nothing in his stomach to purge—lay not far from the huddled form. Arthur winced. The unruly knight then focused back on the king, his face once again morphing into a scowl. "He's dying Arthur."

"You think I don't know that?! I can see it Gwaine!" A quick glance at Merlin ensured Arthur that the young servant hadn't heard his shouts, too consumed in his own pain to focus on anything going on around him. He once again focused back on Gwaine and—despite his friend's lack of concentration—lowered his voice. "But it's his choice. I won't take that away from him."

They glared at each other, Arthur with determined authority, Gwaine with just pure determination, both believing they knew what was best for their suffering friend.

"Sire." Leon's voice broke the two out of their silent battle. Both heads whipped toward the curly haired knight, their glares morphing quickly into those of concern. "The horses are ready. We need to leave now." Leon was kneeling at Merlin's side, a gentle hand stroking the young servant's back as the lanky man bent over and heaved, adding more bile and spit to the pile beside him. His eyes were pinched in pain, breath coming out in harsh gasps between heaves as the trembling increased. Arthur was amazed the young man hadn't flown apart with how much he was now shaking. He needed help and soon.

Arthur's hands curled into fists, his anger at his own helplessness getting the best of him. It wasn't until he felt the lump in his right hand that the looked down. He opened his fist, displaying the small bag of the dried drug. The desire to chuck the offending bag as far as he could into the forest was almost overwhelming. But all he did was just stare at it.

He could do it, he knew he could. Just a pinch of the stuff in Merlin's water and the young servant's suffering would be eased. No more shaking, no more vomiting, and no more having to look at his pain-filled, dilated eyes.

But the drug haze would just take its place, clouding over the usually bright blue eyes. A shiver ran down Arthur's back at the memory of his cheeky disobedient servant forced to do as his king had unknowingly commanded with unnatural compliance. Arthur didn't think he would be able to handle that again. Merlin obeying any command, it wasn't right. He would do anything to avoid having to witness that again.

The small bag of the drug sat innocently in his hand.

Well, almost anything.

Arthur suddenly broke out of his musings and clamored atop his horse. "Let's go," he ordered, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. Leon didn't miss a beat before carefully lifting the now breathless and exhausted Merlin up to his feet and helping him over to Arthur's mount, taking most of the servant's weight. He then gently lifted the young man up onto the saddle, Arthur guiding him until the lanky servant sat shaking in front of him before he wrapped his arms around the thin frame, grasping the reins.

Knowing his knights were going to be right behind him Arthur kicked his horse forward, setting a fast but steady speed, one that he hoped Merin could handle. At this point though, it didn't matter. They needed to get back as fast as possible, despite what discomfort the pace may cause.

"Don't worry, Merlin. I'll make sure sure you get through this," Arthur whispered to his friend, fighting back the worry that aimed to escape through in his words. He thought back to the small pouch of the drug now safely tucked away in his pocket. "One way or another."

* * *

**A/N: **Well there's that. I'm looking forward to writing the next few parts. Really it'll be...I wanna say great but evil might be better term. Hopefully I can get it up earlier than I have been seeing as everything as far as work goes has calmed down a bit. As always, reviews are welcome and loved and make me feel giddy inside (and yes despite my recent slowness, they help me write faster and keep this story going). Until next time, have fun be safe and don't die!


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